


Between Thunderclaps: Tamed Hounds

by CharmiaArkenstone



Series: Emerald Storm [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 15:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20438465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmiaArkenstone/pseuds/CharmiaArkenstone
Summary: You make a wound, and then you kiss it better, but there's poison on your lips.





	Between Thunderclaps: Tamed Hounds

Each time Sabre told herself she didn’t need him, crave him, love him, it was an even greater lie, spinning even greater chaos. And if there was a deity of dreams, they were surely resigned to torturing her.

Rain pattered on the roof of the treehouse she still considered to be Curly’s and it was little comfort. It wasn’t dark enough yet to be night, but still she’d excused herself from the camp, withdrawn and collapsed into the bed, clad in the nightgown that was the latest of Tiger Lily’s gifts. Dresses proved to be more comfortable to sleep in, easier to push aside.

She still counted the moons, sentimental fool she was. So many had gone by, irretrievable, and her earnest efforts had amounted to naught. Not a touch, not a whisper, not a glance. Envy was all too keen to rouse at the sights of ringed bites and bruised wreaths on others, even as she pitied the strain in their ragdoll gaits. Envy – and a feeling akin to fear, only worse – filled to the cusp with a rare vehemence. Little consolation was to be found in the knowledge her plight, perhaps feeble as it was, was shared by many and known all too well.

Tonight would be no different. Like the last, and all those before.

Rolling onto her side, thighs tightly sealed together, Sabre’s wayward thoughts only had one journey to take, many places to stop and linger but nowhere to go. She closed her eyes even though sleep was far out of reach.

She wasn’t sure how many more nights she could take like that. Funny thing was, she’d been thinking that for weeks.

It could have been a few minutes, it could have been an hour, but Sabre found herself stirring like a marionette, powerless, to the illusory sensation of long fingers carding through her freshly cleaned hair. It dawned upon her that she’d rolled half onto her belly and tugged the pillow downwards to clutch it tightly to her breast, the hem of the pale dress hitched over her thigh.

Sabre moaned out softly, thoughts telling her she was in a dream. After the initial euphoria faded, her subconscious would remind that it was _only_ a dream, leaving it all hollow, because she’d woken too many times having believed it to be real. She’d fooled herself one too many times.

But it felt _so_ real.

She told herself, in the limbo between wake and sleep, that it _always_ felt that way and she _always_ fell for it.

Her eyes were hazed and hooded as they opened. A hand was still petting her hair. “I’m dreaming again,” she uttered in a whispering grumble, half muffled against the pillow, trying to shake the delusion before it could hurt.

His chuckle was all too vivid as it reached her. “_Again?_ I rather like the sound of that,” he couldn’t fight the stronger laugh that left him as the girl blinked fully awake and the colour drained from her face. “Do we need to revisit our game of secrets?” The way she tilted into his hand pleased him.

“You’re here?” Sabre’s whisper was faint, as if scared that it, too, was a dream.

Pan sat down in the space made by the curve of her body, while she leaned up on her elbow. “I know, how cruel of me to leave you for so long. What a _beast_ I am,” he hissed against her lips, and smirked wide at the shudder many others would have missed.

“Why now?” she asked timidly.

Pan breathed out low, their noses touching as he tipped his head to a slight angle. With no warning his hand was at her neck, squeezing the frail column brutally enough to leave the girl sputtering and wheezing. Her resting hand was warm as it clutched his forearm to steady herself rather than to fight, fingers far from meeting the heel of her palm. Still Pan grinned, his eyes maniacal.

He drew back an inch, the hand closest to the girl toying with the hem of her gown. “Because now is when I feel like playing with you,” he gave an especially tight _squeeze _just to see her lip drop a fraction lower, the gasp trapped somewhere underneath his fingers. “’T’s been a while since I fucked a little girl.”

Her response was _delightful_.

Invisible flames licked at every inch of skin, searing white hot up her back and neck, equally euphoric and terrified.

“You’ve missed me, haven’t you?” Pan dragged his thumb over Sabre’s lower lip, and when she merely whined in response he gave another squeeze. “_Haven’t you?_”

Sabre gulped, panting in what little breathe she could as she quivered before his minatory gaze. “Y-Yes. More than anything.”

“Good girl,” he growled, bypassing her lips so that he could run the tip of his tongue up the shell of her little ear before using his hold on her neck to force that little body up from the bed. She stumbled under his strength, reaching out blindly for him and trying to control the chokes into tiny gasping breaths.

The wild boy took an ample moment to examine the girl, small enough to be tucked under his haughtily lifted chin. Her hair, once barely able to scrape her jaw, now tumbled nearly to her hips; out of its braid, or whichever way she chose to style it, it flowed like a silken waterfall, unencumbered by thick knots and dirt. So much innocence still adorned her face, sculpted flawlessly into the art he’d spent years perfecting with a hand both distant and intimate. Innocence had never been all that important in what he sought to preserve in his favourite toys, but seeing how exquisitely it’d turned out in her, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy it without corrupting all his efforts.

The strength in his fingers relented, leaving the girl to snatch in breath after breath. “I have something for you,” as he spoke, Pan lifted his hand, palm up.

Across it was a strip of leather, delicately entwined at the edges like a simple plait, no thicker than two of Sabre’s fingers. She immediately took a liking to its gentle warm brown colour. Its nature didn’t quite strike her until Pan pulled it straight between his thumbs and forefingers, and she saw the buckle at the end. The gasp slipped easily enough through her crippled airways.

“Lift your hair.”

Sabre did exactly as told. The leather was cool as Pan drew it around her delicate neck, fastening it at the nape without having to even glance, tight enough to stay in place but loose enough for him to thread his fingers through at a stretch. She shuddered as the buckle clipped in place. It was a light thing, yet she could feel its weight in her bones.

Pan stared at her. “Well, aren’t you going to thank me?”

“Thank you,” Sabre rushed, fingers picking at her nightgown. “It…It’s perfect.”

“Hm, suits you,” he decided, dragging the pad of his thumb across the leather, and Sabre couldn’t stop the swell of pride in her chest.

Placing his hands on her waist, the Boy-King rotated them slowly by a half turn, almost like twirling her in a dance, leaving him against the bed.

He tilted his chin down, eyes devouring her. “Take off my clothes.”

Sabre wet her lips, blinking nervously as she reached first to undo the belt at his waist, compelling herself to remain unhurried lest she make any mistakes by rushing clumsily. The belt had more heft to it that she was expecting, the way it always did, and she dipped to place it towards the foot of the bed. Her heart was impossible to tame as she slipped her dainty fingers under the hem of Pan’s tunic. With a quick glance to meet his eyes, Sabre lifted it, higher and higher, exposing the lean strong muscles of his abdomen, then his chest; he lifted his arms and she stood on the tips of her toes to pull the tunic over his head, ruffling his bronze tinted hair in doing so. He took the tunic from her and tossed it down with his belt.

His nipples were mouth-wateringly dusky against the fair hue of his chest. Pan cuffed her lightly at the jaw. “Up here,” and it was only then that Sabre realised she’d been staring. He ran his fingers along the waist of his breeches; “Now these.”

It was all too easy to drop to her knees, to make herself ever smaller under his might. She cared nothing for the hard wood beneath as she tugged and loosened Pan’s breeches enough to pull them over his slender hips. He wasn’t fully hard when she inched them down his legs, and he grinned widely to see her swallow.

He glided a finger down her face as he sat on the bed as though it were a throne. “My boots,” he spoke with a tone of demanding.

Tentatively, with care, Sabre undressed the dark god of every thread, gulping back every time her mouth watered. She handled everything with the utmost tenderness, knelt silently at his feet. Surely any moment she’d wake, realise it was only a dream.

The nightgown only illuminated her meekness, petite and fragile, in spite of the warrior within; made her seem younger in the sense of helping to lift a little tension from the shoulders, burdens she carried long before being ready.

It was so much easier to tear off the armour.

“How often do you dream of me?” the question came unexpectedly, soft and deep to her ears.

It took a moment to find her voice. “Sometimes,” she whispered as though confessing a sin.

“_Sometimes_,” Pan repeated with a grin. “And what tends to happen in these dreams?” He reached low to graze his fingers along the collar, teasing with the smallest touches against her bare skin.

Sabre fidgeted a little, clearing away strands of hair purely to expel a shred of nervous energy. “Not much,” she sighed, looking down, “because I always tell myself it’s not real. No matter how much I wished it was.”

“Let’s say this _was_ a dream,” Pan straightened, towering above. “What do you imagine I would want you to do next? Come on, don’t be shy.” His eyes gleamed avidly at her timid hesitancy, the bait dangling right in front of her.

Little trembles shackled Sabre’s limbs as she uncurled – perfectly on her hands and knees, he noted. She bowed low, hips tilted up, holding her hair back as she kissed along the top of his foot, far calmer at the exterior. Not that it hid anything from him.

Mouth at his ankle, Sabre continued the path up the muscular curve of Pan’s calf, hand settling meekly on the other thigh to hold herself steady, mouth journeying further up, taking minute pauses to suck softly at skin and muscle. She kissed all the long way to the top of his thigh, now kneeling up to accommodate, tongue darting out to caress the inner curve. Pan’s fingers touching her hair caused her to flinch; he tilted her head so that the tip of his cock nudged at her lips, and she stole a gasp before opening up to take him in her mouth.

He growled out low at the heat, drawn to the way her eyes fluttered as she fought the urge to choke. Both hands were at his thighs now, and Sabre adjusted her position to avoid straining the muscles in her neck, able to take him a little more easily without provoking her reflexes. She hollowed her mouth the way he liked best, keeping a fairly unhurried pace at first. Pan held off from fisting her hair and fucking her mouth as he grew to full hardness. After all, it was her dream. And it wasn’t as though she _wasn’t_ pleasing him.

She had a way of being delicate that his other playthings tended not to, not that he minded. The variation was actually rather welcome; no one wanted to play with toys that were all the same anyway.

With the just the tip of his length between her lips, no longer able to take him fully without gagging, Sabre swirled her tongue over the hot silken flesh, swallowing down saliva tinted with the taste of his lust. Her eyes flickered up, and for a moment their gazes met, molten emerald and hazel pouring into one another.

She drew in the muscles of her mouth as tightly as she could around the head, tongue probing against the slit, causing Pan to roll his head back, a breathless groan leaving him. “I see my lessons haven’t gone to waste.” He cradled her skull and Sabre whined softly around him.

Her little sucks and stroking tongue sent jolt after jolt of pleasure up his spine from the very base and he flexed through his upper body, muscles elongating satisfyingly. Bit by bit, for fear of rushing clumsily, Sabre took him deeper until she felt the tell-tale constriction of her lower throat. Pan’s hands were driving her now, fingers buried beneath waves of dark hair. Retaining the same speed, he would hold himself in her mouth just a moment longer than the girl’s comfort allowed, just to see if she’d struggle. Against _whom_ didn’t matter.

She kept her cheeks tautly hollowed, teeth pulled back and tongue ready for each invasion, hands gripping Pan’s thighs to steel against choking, clenching every time the tip of his cock went just _too _far. It would take some time for her jaw to feel like it could close naturally.

“Pull your dress down,” Pan snarled jaggedly, without slackening the grip on the girl’s head, the thrusts of his hips only growing faster, rougher.

The whimper she gave, reverberating around his cock, only pushed him closer. Her body jolted with the incessant rolls of Pan’s hips and she hurried to wiggle her shoulders free from the nightgown, feeling a few stitches go as the collar was dragged down, lower and lower. She pulled her arms free, all the while fighting every base urge to convulse and to keep her mouth tightened without gritting her teeth against the ripples of pain shooting down her scalp, into her neck and back.

Comprehension abandoned her for a moment, only hearing Pan’s guttural moans, and suddenly she was flat on her back, winded and hurting, the muscles of her thighs forced to stretch to the point of ripping, mouth empty. It was like regaining consciousness as white hot spurts of come coated her bare chest.

Pan knelt over her, hand on his shaft as he milked himself dry, the hand in her hair now keeping her pinned down. Breath and body quaking, Sabre looked down at the sight of herself, enthralled and horrified in one. She swallowed the salt on her tongue, jaw stretched to the point of becoming unhinged. The only difference between their panting breaths was pitch. Sabre watched Pan’s eyes focus, at last coming down from his primal high, and they landed on her, seeking her out like prey in the distance. The hand in her hair slid out; with it Pan dabbed his middle finger into his own come and put it to her right nipple, rubbing the hot essence into pert, rosy flesh. The little noise that followed brought on a languid grin, predatory at the edges.

For a moment, Sabre thought he meant to be done with her.

He straightened up, appearing large enough to grind her to dust under his stride, taking a moment to admire what he’d reduced the girl to before sitting back lazily on the bed, a hand palming his sensitized cock with equal leisure.

“Lie on your belly, facing me,” Pan ordered in a growl.

Sabre didn’t move beyond lifting up onto her elbows, so bashfully afraid of ruining the dress that lay bunched at her hips.

But more afraid of incurring his disappointment, or his wrath. Or worse, his abandonment.

Pan waited for her to adjust her form, moving swiftly, pressing into the wooden floor at his behest, and she remained lifted on her elbows, gazing up expectantly through dark lashes for her next command.

He straightened his back so he could see everything, lifting one foot to the same height as her mouth and watched the girl wet her lips, swallowing down before inching closer to press her lips on the underside of his big toe. She ducked low, tipping to the side to make the best of the few inches between his sole and the floor, fingers digging down in what would have been the shudder at feeling his come trickle down her chest to where flesh met with wood.

Pan flexed his toes, giving her greater access as her little tongue lapped along and between, over and over until her mouth nearly ran dry. Her kisses, when she gave them, were feather-soft yet filled with a longing to please that could never quite be satisfied. She could have gone on worshipping the wild god until dawn.

The strings between them tugged under the weight of the girl’s elation and need to give, and to be needed in return. His toys were always so desperate to be played with but when he let them linger, unwanted, in the limbo, the prizes were such _fun_. There was no point in keeping silence; she was still _relatively_ new to his _harem_ – Pan still smirked at the word – compared to those he’d shared his bed with for centuries, but she had learnt quickly and learnt well. Besides, who was he to deny himself?

His soft groans and drawn out breaths helped to soothe Sabre’s quiet worries as she ran her tongue along the underside. Her body was beginning to ache from its position but she didn’t dare stop, and her shoulders were burning by the time Pan let her switch to the other foot. It didn’t matter, though. He was really there.

And he wanted _her_.

“Roll over,” Pan said, placing his lifted foot away from Sabre’s seeking mouth and placed it to the floor. She obeyed quickly despite the stiffness he could see in her upper body, and the shudder as she lay her back down in the smearing of his come on the wooden floor. He smirked down at her. “Good dog.”

The pout got to Sabre’s lips before she could stop it and, although small, Pan caught it straightaway. He stood slowly. Hands clenched at her sides, Sabre held her breath as he stepped around her, the torchlight dancing across the contours of his form.

Every muscle coiled at the sight of him above her, tall, dark and glorious. “Don’t like it?” he said, lifting his foot and bring it down on her chest, feeling his drying essence against the sole, toes at her throat, and paused to watch her quiver uninterrupted. “Would you prefer _mutt_? Or _bitch_?”

Sabre shook her head, body rigid and burning.

“Thought not. You’ll get what you deserve, when you earn it. Understood, _dog_?”

“Mmhm,” Sabre’s nod was hasty even while his toes pressed into the collar over her jugular.

Pan then dragged his foot down over her chest, warm against the skin, and she was quiet until he began to knead her breast just shy of painfully. Treacherously soon, the peaks of her nipples stiffened without the gown to protect her, leaving them all too vulnerable for him to tease. Sabre clamped her thighs so tightly together they ached, the whimper clutched in the back of her throat until Pan pressed down just a little harder, strength threatening to splinter the girl’s sternum.

“I could keep going, couldn’t I?” the demon tipped his head with a wry grin, a light quality to his voice, soft, that made it sound as though he was intoxicated. Or playing out a fantasy in his mind. He was already half hard again. “I could keep pressing down, until you_ break_, and you wouldn’t do a thing to stop me, would you?”

Sabre answered with a mewl, high and fragile, and it turned to a winded cry of pain as Pan dug his heel into the vulnerable flesh of her lower stomach. Those eyes were too much to bear, burning like two virid suns. Knowing he never would didn’t keep the primordial fear at bay and she fought with everything not to struggle, and to push the hot pulsing between her legs aside.

Pan’s chuckle was deep as he lifted his foot away and swooped down, slipping his forearms under her ribcage and thighs, to lift her. To most, the girl would have been rather light to hold; in his arms, he felt all the exertion that would have come of holding a baby bird in his hands. “How did you ever become a soldier?” he pondered, settling Sabre on the bed before tugging her nightgown over her hips and legs, snapping several more stitches with the force of his hands. “You’re so small.”

“I used what I had,” Sabre replied, voice carried on a shaky breath. Her thighs pulled in together.

“Oh, I’m not complaining,” hands forced her knees apart, the gown crumpled on the floor. Excitement, riding on the back of apprehension, shot through Sabre’s bones as Pan climbed over her with the deadly grace of a panther. “In fact, I quite like it,” he said in a purr.

Long fingers snaked around Sabre’s calves, flexing her legs into the air, straightening them first as Pan adjusted his stance so he could bend them at the knee over his toned shoulders. He used his weight to push effortlessly against her, folding that little body in half, while his hands steadied themselves either side of Sabre’s shoulders. There was a soft struggle against him that Pan was quick to realise was an attempt to bring her hips nearer to his cock, even if by a fraction, opening her hips as wide as could be attained.

Pan’s eyes blazed. “There’s a good girl,” pressing forwards, the tip of his cock nudged her opening, the burning wetness bringing forth a breathless grin that bared his teeth. “Do you get this wet when you dream of me? Have you ever touched yourself over me?”

Her dark eyes widened as she swallowed, the rush to find words of denial clear through the hazel looking glass. It told Pan all he wished to know. If he’d had the patience, he would have teased her further. What precise images did she paint for herself? How many fingers did she use; did she try to believe they were his instead? Did it take her long to claim the release she dreamed he would provide her? But he hadn’t sought her out for _her_ benefit. She was a good dog, intelligent and obedient, but she’d done nothing lately especially worthy of reward.

The ring of muscles at the opening of her quim strained in resistance against the initial penetration but was overpowered by his strength without consequence, for _him_. The cry, torn but stifled, was expected, and Pan let her body begin to uncoil with its exhale. The body beneath was always like a vice around him, sometimes a few whispers from painful at the first claiming. He ground forward, fingers tautened into talons, eliciting a thin whimper from Sabre’s coral lips as her body was compressed against itself that was nothing against the sound to leave her when Pan reared back, his length sliding out in by inch, until she was left completely without him. The glint tearing through those viridescent orbs spoke only of dark mirth, a hunger that knew only how to conquer; and that which wasn’t destroyed should count itself blessed by fortune.

A scream that built in Sabre’s lungs died under Pan’s brutal strength, its carcass strung out in an uncontrollable and broken sound, and her eyes grew wider yet saw nothing. The instinct to fight and thrash pushed against her bones, his body her cage.

She didn’t remember gripping him. Her hands would never be big enough to wrap around barely half of his biceps; the force of those little fingers, nails withdrawn, probably meant nothing to him even in all their primal desperation. The absence of his hands was felt. More deeply than Sabre could afford to show.

Pan knew why she wouldn’t look at him, and instead those eyes, close to black in the dark, were drawn far away. The girl’s eyes had always been the most naked part of her. He could see much, more than mere mortals, and she was sharp enough to know so, full well.

With a gown, she could bare her body.

With her eyes, she would bare so much more.

He felt the fear in their intangible bond each time something – whatever it was – led her to bind her gaze to his for long. It was one matter to hide the past, but another entirely to conceal what it had forced her to become. For so long, none had been able to see her, _truly_ see her.

But he could.

And it was then, when the lonely girl was so helplessly overpowered, in so many ways, that she lost any means of protecting what lay hidden beneath – everything she hid and hoarded so closely, with an resoluteness that managed to astound even him , forbidden to all. And that was her defiance, quiet as it was.

No matter how much she gave, there was always _so_ much more to be given.

The cries, moans and whimpers that pounded against Pan’s ears didn’t bother him, as such. He’d gotten what he wanted – a little, girl’s body, soft and warm, the rarest in his collection – and he knew he wasn’t exactly being gentle with her. She took him well, though. The brutality of her history had proven a good mentor.

Sabre’s body was already a hair’s breadth from shaking when Pan shrugged his shoulders so that her legs fell limply to be caught in the crooks of his elbows, and he gathered her up in his arms, hands splayed across the swells of her backside while she was compelled to grip him by the neck, the thin space between their torsos tantamount to fire. Held aloft at Pan’s full standing height, the ground seemed about a mile away.

They clung to each other as Pan rode her inexorably, but only one would carry the consequences, and Sabre buried her face in his neck, muffling every carnal sound that each pounding stole from the pits of her belly. He could have taken all his toys that way – the ability to physically hold them aloft had never been the issue – and there _was _something immensely satisfying about taking boys larger than him and fucking them without so much as straining a muscle but there was something equally as satisfying about doing the same to a body smaller than his own. And she was the littlest of his playthings.

It made it thrilling to dole out his strength, bit by bit, to see what it pushed her to.

A dim glow seeped through onto Sabre’s pale flesh, a scarlet hue blooming, stark, across her chest. She knew Pan felt her hold slacken like a flower crushed under the searing sun in the way his hands inched further up her lower back to coax the natural slack of her weight to collapse into his chest as he bucked into that little body, nothing but a stringless vessel who could only whimper and take it.

Amidst the symphony of bliss and thrill and pain, Sabre tilted on Pan’s shoulder so that she could gaze up at half his face, contorted in animalistic pleasure, and one of the most addictive sights to ever behold, though when the wild god angled his own gaze, eyes bearing down, she didn’t have enough fight to turn away, so closed her eyes as the last barrier was crushed to dust. Pan’s grin was close to breathless in seeing her try to hide away; he rather preferred it. All he wanted there and then was a body to claim, and it just so happened to be hers that piqued his fancy.

He heard the whine a fraction before feeling the girl’s little hands slip exhaustedly from his neck. She scrambled to latch onto his shoulders before the weight could drag her down and bend her over backwards, much to Pan’s diluted amusement, and that time, instead of hoisting that fire-clad body up, he made her struggle for it, numb to the clawing of her bird-bone fingers as he continued to rut her mercilessly. The growls and grunts that never failed to make her shudder betrayed him. As much as Sabre knew her body would be swift to shatter, boneless, under his strength, it paled against knowing that she’d be left all alone once he’d had enough of her. She’d be lucky if he tossed her onto the bed like an old bone when he was done.

And she would return to hopeless longing and gnawing frustration, thrown back in the toy box.

Jaw tensed and lips pressed together, Sabre compelled every sound that ecstasy gave a voice to distort themselves for fear of aggravating the demon boy, clinging on with all she had. Hair clung to her slick skin, as well as Pan’s hands where they held her to receive his ceaseless thrusts, speed unhindered by duration.

There was nothing to prepare the girl when Pan lifted her from his throbbing length, a trickle of feminine lust swiftly following down her quivering thighs, and all but dropped her on the bed. She bounced like a broken thing.

The natural fall of Sabre’s limbs left her knees parted wide. Her breaths were ragged, barely able to lift the ribs that could be traced by sight and touch, and she had all the competency of a ragdoll as Pan rolled her by the hips onto the front, upper body lagging behind.

A scathing slap to her backside got her to move the rest of the way by herself.

She was ready to collapse before even fully straightening through the arms and tried to relieve what weight she could through her thighs, the points of her knees dipping into the bedding. Not daring to look back over her shoulder, Sabre winced as Pan knelt behind and moved all her hair over to one side, leaving the nape of her neck, and the collar, exposed. In a single smooth motion, he pushed himself in to the hilt and hooked his fingers through the collar, and _tugged_. The cry, hoarse and crippled, came instantly as Sabre reared back like a wild mare. Her inner walls clenched needily, breached so deeply and fully. Fastening his other hand to the crease of Sabre’s hip, Pan bucked forward; with nowhere to escape, the girl’s body had no other choice than to take his full force. It was all too much.

The grip on her collar compelled a deep concave arch in her back, and with each thrust Sabre felt her palms pull away from the bed, unable to move her head from its confines. Against the delicately interwoven leather, her jugular strained, a dark haze creeping into the edges of her vision. Aching pains shot through the length of her back, her hipbone groaned, impervious to the balm of pleasure that burned through her pelvis.

“_P-Pan_…” the voice to leave her dried lips was one she hoped she’d never hear again. The other words were lost to her, as rogue muscles started to twitch frenziedly. What little restraint Sabre had clutched onto now snatched itself away, and gave her the hysterical strength for one loud, piercing cry. 

The pressure relented, leaving nothing to hold her as the next thrust ploughed through her frame. Cough after cough hauled themselves up Sabre’s crippled throat and upon coming to, her body was laid flat on its front, a sorry mimicry of what she’d seen a hundred times on the battlefield.

With one hand braced by the girl’s head, Pan sealed the other right between her shoulder blades, more as a reminder than anything else while pounding against the reddened swells of her hind.

He didn’t apologise in any form. He didn’t care.

He’d wrung out the last of the fight; she barely even made a peep as he fucked her all the way to climax. She might have whimpered faintly at the grinding pressure of his hand as he came, but in those blinding moments he couldn’t have cared less if a resounding _crack _had met his ears, followed by the pooling of hot blood. Finishing with a drawn out groan, Pan let his gaze fall, focusing, to the body below. Through the disarray of dark hair that hid the face beneath, the collar peaked through. It made her prettier.

Sabre began to push herself up, weakly shaking her head to clear some of the hair away, sighing in knowing that the dream was over. Muscles clenched all over her body as Pan pulled out, his come hot against the slick flesh it trickled down, but she kept the whimper sealed inside. The air still crackled in her throat with every breath, the strength to cough spent in the sluggish attempts to angle her body so that when she collapsed, her head would fall onto a pillow, and Pan watched her crawl away as he took his weight from the bed and rolled his shoulders to flex the muscles. The bed shook as she gave way, back to him, curling inwards with the last echo of physical strength.

Yet still she hummed, not moving to look, when Pan reached over to pet her damp hair, dragging it away from her face and neck, able to see the ferocious red line, about an inch thick, created by his hand, which would mutate into darkness come morning, peeking up from under the soft brown of the collar. His fingers stroked for a moment longer than intended.

Sabre told herself a lie, and spun chaos.

She could only lay, comatose, panting and sweating, as nimble fingers moved through thick tresses, black as night in the torch-lit room, and tugged at the fastenings of the collar with surprising care. The leather was pulled loose, warm as blood in Pan’s hand. He allowed his fingertips to dance over the pouncing hound tattooed into Sabre’s upper arm; Viper had done a fine job…shame he’d met his grizzly end at the claws of a Neverbird.

The long muscles in Sabre’s back flexed, diverting his attention, before she moaned out softly, and Pan wondered if she’d begun to dream yet.

He petted her one more time.

“Good dog.”


End file.
